


the 1

by Darlinxx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Awkward Romance, Domestic Fluff, Draco acts like a bitch but is actually a softie, Draco doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings, Draco wears earrings on this one, Fluff and Humor, Harry is the perfect gentleman, Harry sucks at flirting, M/M, Pansy attempts at matchmaking, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, and Harry takes it in stride, haha just kidding I’m not mean, if that weirds you out then you can fuck off, is this meet cute? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26284015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darlinxx/pseuds/Darlinxx
Summary: "You're not terrible. I mean, maybe not everyone's type, exactly, but…you're just a little –""Insane?" Draco supplies.Harry looks at him. "Intense," he says. "That's not always a bad thing."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 299





	the 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yup it's me, attempting to make fluff :P If you've read my first fic then you might be surprised to find out that this is the total opposite of that lmao.

At nearly three a.m., the idea of murdering one's neighbor starts to get just a little too appealing.

Draco is running on caffeine and fumes, he has to be up for work in four hours, and he's well versed enough in criminal procedure to get away with it. It's not like anyone could possibly convict him; he's practically a saint for putting up with this nonsense as long as he has. He dares anyone else to suffer through nineties throwback garbage at full volume for half the night without cracking. He dares them.

Normally, Draco would never allow anyone to see his overworked three a.m. face except God and the framed North by Northwest poster on the wall: he's bloodless and bleary-eyed, without even the saving grace of a BB cream to make him look slightly human. But the soon-to-be-dead person living in 3B simply has to be dealt with, so Draco puts on his slippers and goes to deal with them.

One angry elevator ride later, he's hammering on the door with a closed fist.

"Wow, okay," is the greeting he gets as the door opens, "Are you for real?"

"Are you for real?" Draco snaps back, rather shrilly if the wince on the guy's face is anything to go by. "Some of us have jobs and need peace and quiet and also, occasionally, sleep – none of which is possible with your shitty music thumping through the walls."

"Shitty?" the guy repeats with a note of offense, as if that's the most important thing, then, "I didn't – are you next door?"

Draco crosses his arms, foot tapping. "One floor up."

The guy glances up, hand rubbing the back of his neck, and does look a little sorry. Took him long enough. "Oh. I guess I didn't realize it was that loud."

"You guess?"

His eyebrows raise, but instead of arguing, he says, "I'm sorry. I'll keep it down."

"You better," Draco snits. He's a little disappointed that it isn't more of an argument, actually; it's anticlimactic. "I'd rather not have to perform public service in the middle of the night again."

The guy gives him an odd look, like he finds Draco more funny than bothersome, which is immensely irritating. "You're 4B, then?"

"That is how apartments work, yes."

"Uh-huh." He has a cigarette behind one ear that he pauses to put in the corner of his mouth and light. He gives Draco a look, informs him, "Your magazines are always fucking up the mail," and then shuts the door right in Draco’s face before he can respond.

"But is he cute?" is, of course, Pansy's first question.

"If you like boys who are skinnier than you," Draco answers, adding venomously, "Not that it matters; he isn't long for this world."

Draco is getting home late from work (or, getting home from work; late should always be implied) when he finds 3B lounging at his door. He's leaning back with a foot up against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest to prop the other, which holds a folded-over paperback aloft so he can read. He has that stupid cigarette behind his ear again.

"Aren't you sixty years too late for the James Dean thing?" Draco says, unceremoniously thrusting his bagful of papers at the guy so he can rummage in his pocket for his key.

Said guy ignores the jibe. "I wanted to apologize for being an ass the other day," he says, holding out a cup towards him like a peace offering. Draco hadn't noticed it before.

Draco sniffs the air. "Herbal tea?" he asks distastefully.

He gives Draco a half-smile. "You seem like you need to chill out a little."

"You clearly don't value your life at all, do you, 3B?" Draco finally gets the door open and snatches his belongings back. "You can make it up to me by removing yourself from my presence."

He gives Draco a mocking salute. "You got it, uptight guy in _4B_. And it's Harry, by the way."

"Whatever, Harold," Draco says pointedly, hand on the door ready to slam it. He wavers, but then takes a half step forward and plucks the cigarette away. God, he hasn't had one in months. "This is a disgusting habit, by the way. One of many you seem to have."

"We really got off on the wrong foot," Harry says. "I don't mean to –"

And Draco gets the satisfaction of closing the door on him this time.

What follows is a handful of unintentional run-ins.

Draco is heading out for work when he sees Harry coming back in one morning with his coffee and paper, offering him a tired smile that Draco answers with an appalled frown. One night as Draco's prepping for the next day he hears a sudden racket outside and peers out his window, sees Harry in the middle of a pack of unbrushed hipsters all coming inside. Another time he's going on a Pansy-enforced blind date and spots Harry across the street with his arm around some redhead.

Not that Draco's looking or anything.

Saturday finds Harry perched on the stoop with a pencil between his teeth as he scrawls with another pen all over some magazine article. Draco is returning from a farmers' market with a picnic basket full of goodies; the first few years of living in this neighborhood, he'd rebelled against such cutesy nonsense but in all honesty he really can't deny the quality of the produce.

"What are you doing?"

Harry looks up and Draco gets a better look at him: scruffy, hair too long, flannel rumpled, boots scuffed. And, well, kind of hot. Disconcerted, Draco glares at him a little harder.

"Pointing out inaccuracies," Harry says, turning the article towards Draco briefly. "And checking out the competition, kind of."

"Competition?"

"I write for the other guy." He closes the magazine and Draco glances at the title – some music magazine he wouldn't bother with if you paid him. Then Harry tucks it under his arm like he's settling in for a conversation. 

Draco did not sign up for that. He frowns. "Oh, so that explains the hours you keep."

Harry nods slightly. "All the best writing happens between midnight and four in the morning."

"That remains to be seen." Draco shifts the basket from hand to hand. "Do you write things besides articles no one reads?"

"Stories no one reads," he says, and smiles, looking at Draco a little closer. "You know, you keep pretty odd hours too. Since you were awake to yell at me and all."

"Yes, well. I have a real job," Draco says, his voice a tad defensive.

"And I'd love to hear all about it, but –" His gaze shifts past Draco and he stands. "Date's here."

It's that redhead from the other day. One of those girls who doesn't wear makeup and doesn't style her hair but manages to look casually sexy and windswept anyway. Draco is doing his own version of casual for the weekend: designer jeans, soft sweater, loafers. But for some reason now he feels overdressed.

Draco's nose wrinkles. "Who goes on dates in the middle of a Saturday?"

"People without real jobs, apparently," he says on his way down the steps – but then Harry turns to look back at him. "What did you say your name was?"

Draco feels a sudden stupid rush of displaced embarrassment that this entire time he hasn't known his name. "Draco," he says. "Malfoy." He straightens a little bit. "Esquire."

Harry smiles, a real one this time. "Your Vogue's here." He points behind Draco into the small lobby. "Clogging up the mailboxes again."

Draco looks, and by the time he's turned back, Harry's halfway down the street.

On Tuesday Draco bums a cigarette off him. Whatever.

Pansy says, "You should invite him this weekend!"

Draco doesn't even look up from his book, except to eyeball the girl doing his pedicure. "Why would I invite my annoying neighbor," he says, very flatly, so Pansy is aware that it is not a question but an accusation of ridiculousness.

"You said he wrote for some music thing, right?" Pansy says thoughtfully, ignoring Draco. "And what's his name? Harry Something?"

"Harry Potter," Draco supplies. Not that he'd looked. It was just there next to Harry’s apartment buzzer.

"Harry Potter," Pansy repeats with a ta-dah implicit in her tone, as though his name means anything." He eviscerated my client's last album. She cried."

Draco perks up a little. "Really?"

Pansy goes on to pull up the review and read it aloud, with all the expected Pansy personality and too much laughter from all the salon girls. Draco is glad to have a distraction from Pansy's endless matchmaking and also possibly just a teensy tiny bit impressed.

Turns out it didn't really distract from Pansy's matchmaking.

It's an industry party, the kind Draco doesn't really care for but continuously gets talked into. He prefers benefits, sit down dinners, black tie – not a bunch of pop stars in leather pants snorting coke off every available bathroom surface. But Pansy insists that all of Draco's lawyering needs to be counteracted with aggressive fun, so Draco puts on a suit and comes to the party.

Draco's at the end of his third martini, violently stabbing for the olives, when there's a light touch to his elbow. "So you do exist outside of the building," Harry says. "I was starting to wonder if you were a really mean ghost."

Draco turns to blink at him then narrows his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend invited me," he says. "Which is interesting, considering I have not reviewed her clients kindly in the past."

 _God, Pansy,_ Draco thinks. _Can't you ever be subtle?_

"I'm sure she's around here somewhere," Draco says, waving him away. "Look for the leggy brunette surrounded by admirers."

Harry pauses, awkwardly, like he wants to say something. He looks almost respectable, Draco notices, in a gray shirt and black blazer. "Uh, okay," he says. "I'll see you around, then, I guess?"

"I guess," Draco says tersely.

Pansy ends up pouring Draco into a cab somewhere in the vicinity of dawn, after one free drink too many made it hard to stay vertical. He hadn't seen Harry the rest of the night.

He spends the early hours alternately cuddling into his fluffiest robe and puking, and he's nauseous enough that even the smell of the bakery on the corner sends him right back to the bathroom. He's just going to close the window when there's the insidious smell of cigarette smoke and then the sound of laughter following. It takes a minute for his foggy brain to make the connection, but he realizes that Harry is on the fire escape just below his, entertaining someone. And in that moment Draco is so annoyed and sick and strangely mortified that he fills up a glass pitcher with water then upends it right outside the window. He is happily rewarded with a shriek and some muffled cursing.

He pokes his head out the window but doesn't see the girl, just Harry glaring up at him. "Smoking is a disgusting habit," Draco informs him.

"You smoke!" Harry says disbelievingly, wiping water out of his eyes. He's drenched. He must've gotten the worst of it.

Draco smirks. _Good._

"I am trying to quit," he says loftily, and snaps his window shut.

Draco regrets it as soon as he's both fully sober and no longer feeling ill, but at that point there's nothing to do except cringe quietly to himself and hope he never runs into Harry ever again in his life.

And then he drops an earring under the fridge.

He stands there in the kitchen in his socks glaring at that little gap of space between fridge and floor. If he's not out of here in twenty minutes, he's going to be late for work. He has other earrings he could just as easily wear. But Draco has a problem deviating from predetermined plans and he really does like those earrings a lot. Plus it's a very tiny fridge, intended to fit inside his coffin sized London kitchen, and he's had to resort to shifting it before, in similar situations. He can do this.

As it turns out, he cannot. He can physically move the appliance, but as soon as he does, he cracks some prewar wiring in his charming old-fashioned apartment and there is a sudden outpouring of water everywhere.

Draco stands there, shocked, and then tries to stem the flow somehow, which proves impossible, and – god, it's going to ruin his floors, he is definitely late, and he's going to drown here in the titanic outpouring from the stupid too-small refrigerator. So he piles towels on the ground and does something else he'll later regret: he goes out the window, down the fire escape, and bangs on Harry's window like a psycho stalker. While dripping everywhere.

When Harry appears at the window, he looks tired and unimpressed. " You are the neighbor from hell," Harry tells him.

"I know, I know," Draco says impatiently, shivering a little. "It's just –"

"From hell," he repeats. "When everyone in England decided as one not to get to know their neighbors, it was because of people like you."

"I know," Draco snaps, which probably he shouldn't do in this scenario, and then gives up the whole story, adding, "It's just a desperate situation, I don't know who to – can't you just come up for a minute?"

Harry stares at him and sighs and finally says, "This is karma at work, you know."

"Yes, yes, I'm very terrible and I'm getting what I deserve, I know," Draco says. "Please?"

That seems to win Harry over, thankfully, and in a few minutes Harry's slipping across Draco’s soaked floor to assess the damage. Harry fiddles around underneath the sink for ten minutes and whatever he does ceases the tide, thankfully.

"You need to call a real plumber," he says as he gets to his feet again. "But at least it's not gushing anymore."

"Thank you," Draco says. "How did you know how to do that?"

"I lived in a lot of shitty apartments before this one." He crosses his arms. "Why did you ask me to help?"

"I don't know anyone else in the building," Draco says with a shrug. "Um. I did say thank you, yes?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yes. I just meant, you know… You clearly don't like me very much."

"I neither like nor dislike you." Draco shifts his weight a little. "Why do you say that?"

Still staring at him, Harry releases a little huff of a laugh. "Uh, well, let's see. You glare at me all the time. You're not very polite. I went to your party to flirt with you, and somehow that ended with you pouring a bucket of water on my head."

Draco finds himself fidgeting again, drip drip dripping onto the floor. "It wasn't my party," he mumbles. "And it was a pitcher."

"What a distinction."

"I'm sorry?" he tries.

Harry doesn't seem to buy that, not that Draco blames him, and instead starts to excuse himself. At the door, Harry half-turns to say, "You're not terrible. I mean, maybe not everyone's type, exactly, but…you're just a little –"

"Insane?" Draco supplies.

Harry looks at him. "Intense," he says. "That's not always a bad thing."

"Too bad I only use my powers for evil." At this point no amount of denial and avoidance in the world could erase the embarrassment of this entire situation, so Draco's really just like for him to leave.

"Too bad," he agrees, and gives him a little nod before going.

Draco sighs and looks at the clock. There is no salvaging this day.

The next day Draco has some cupcakes sent to Harry’s apartment. That seems the thing to do. When Draco gets home, there's a post-it stuck to his door with Harry’s number on it. 

Draco shoves it to the very bottom of his pocket and does not call him.

Draco needs something to distract him from recent disasters, and Pansy is always good for that. She organizes a night out of sorts – Draco tries to take over the planning but Pansy is having absolutely none of it, and Draco is kind of grateful for that at the end of the day. It can be nice to cede the reins once in a very, very long while.

There's a fair amount of club hopping that ends in some very drunk karaoke, Pansy painfully off-key on Ace of Base's All That She Wants. Draco does not exactly remember the transition from the last club to here, and thanks to the steady stream of cocktails he doesn't really care either.

Pansy and Blaise are in charge of queuing up the songs. Draco is just being pushed to the front of the room for that Mandy Moore song that he pretends not to know the lyrics to when he realizes there is a person hesitantly lurking by the door and that person is Harry.

"Millicent Bulstrode, this one's on you," Draco says, shoving the microphone at her and hurrying off. He half-trips on his heels and has to reach out for Harry and whoever is standing next to him to catch himself.

"Why are you here," Draco demands. He also gives a dirty look to the girl he'd landed on so she'll move away.

Harry glances at the girl too, then looks back at Draco. "Uh, well, I'm sort of realizing that you drunk dialed me."

Draco's eyes widen and he gasps, "I did not!"

"I – It's fine." He's a little sheepish, maybe. "I'll just…I'll go, you have fun with your friends."

But before Draco can say a word, Pansy has swooped in on one side of Harry and explains why he has to stay as she drags him off towards the others. Draco takes a minute to gather himself as best he can before following.

Harry is a good sport about being the new entertainment for seven shitfaced socialites who make him sing boy band songs for the better part of half an hour. Draco has somehow been relegated to the end of the sofa, like he's a nobody or something, watching all of his blitzed friends fawn over Harry half-assing Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely.

"I'm going," Draco decides, but no one hears him. So, louder, and standing for emphasis (though he wavers a little), "I am going."

Which causes Pansy to look up at him with that mischievous twinkle that has never meant anything good for anyone ever. "You and Harry should go together. Because you live in the same building. It makes all kinds of sense. And logic."

Draco makes a sour face at her, but seeing as he's genuinely too drunk to make it to the door without assistance, he says snappishly, "Fine. 3B, are you coming?"

The combination of fresh air and walking seems to make Draco three times as drunk, and he has to clutch Harry's jacket all the way into the cab. "I did not call you," he says stubbornly. He doesn't let go of Harry even though they're sitting now. "I would not have done such a thing."

"You left me a message," he tells him. "You can listen to it if you want."

Draco would honestly rather die. He buries his face in Harry’s shoulder and groans loudly.

"It wasn't that bad," Harry says, sounding amused. "Honestly. I thought it was cute."

"Cute?" Draco repeats, pulling back just enough to peer at him, frowning. "Bunnies are cute. Drunken embarrassments are not cute."

Harry's smiling a little. "You are really cute."

Draco tries not to make any expression. "Shut up, Potter."

It's on the way out of the cab that he realizes he left his keys at the bar. His hand reaches for it automatically and closes around nothing; he has his phone in the pocket of his jacket, but his keys are definitely nowhere nearby.

"I can take you back," Harry offers, but Draco bites his lip, shakes his head.

"If you could lend me your couch…" For some reason a funny thing is happening in his chest as Harry looks at him.

"Okay," he says after a moment, measured. "If you're sure."

Draco feels more himself as they approach Harry’s door, but he still has the sensation that lights are too bright and surfaces too mobile. He keeps blinking like doing so is going to flip a switch to sobriety.

Harry holds the door for him, hand reaching out to feel along the wall for the light. Draco enters tentatively. He had wondered what Harry’s apartment was like.

The layout is not dissimilar to his own: an open living space giving way to a cramped kitchen and small bedroom. But whereas Draco’s is meticulously decorated in creams and blues, with everything in its place, Harry’s is like a haphazard explosion of well-loved pieces all stuffed in together regardless of the final effect. There are books on every surface and records stacked up in piles (he's that kind of hipster, then), worn-out chairs spilling stuffing in places. There are still several boxes too, though as far as he knows Harry's been in the building almost six months.

"Oh, uh, I'm still not fully moved in," Harry says sheepishly, following his line of sight.

Draco arches an eyebrow. "I can tell."

Harry insists on giving Draco his bed, making it up with fresh sheets. While Draco sits there stiffly, Harry gets him water and aspirin, a shirt to sleep in, and a spare toothbrush still in its wrapping. 

It's all so stupid and so stupidly thoughtful that Draco is almost angry.

"What?" Harry says, giving him a curious look. "Is something –"

"Oh, for god's sake –" Draco kneels up so he can yank Harry down into a kiss.

Harry doesn't quite react except to freeze, which makes it a particularly awkward situation, made worse when Draco pulls back after a moment. His hands are curled in Harry’s shirt but Harry’s hands are held out to each side like he doesn't know what to do with them.

"Here I thought you didn't like me very much."

"I don't," Draco says obstinately, pouting. When Harry raises an eyebrow, Draco adds in a huff, "It's just not very easy for me."

"What's that?"

"Being…" His nose wrinkles. "Having emotions. At other people."

Now he's kind of openly laughing at him, which Draco shouldn't abide but somehow does anyway, though he shoves Harry back a little for good measure. "Yes, I can see that you have trouble with that."

"Don't make fun of me." Draco flops back to his seated position, a little genuinely sulky now. Harry doesn't have to kiss him but he could certainly avoid making Draco feel worse about it.

With enough earnestness that Draco almost believes him, Harry promises, "I'm not. I'm just… You're very drunk right now."

He's switched to that gentle tone people often use with drunks, so Draco must be acting highly pathetic. He grimaces. "I don't need pity," he informs Harry archly. "I clearly misinterpreted, so –"

"You didn't," Harry says.

But Draco has entered the self-pity part of the night. He drops onto Harry’s bed, sinking into the duvet a little, and pulls a corner of it up over himself. Harry sits next to him and then lies next to him, very purposefully keeping some blanket between them.

"It's all very difficult," Draco says after a moment, looking up at the ceiling. And he doesn't know why, but, "My last boyfriend wasn't very nice to me."

"I'm sorry," Harry says.

"That's not really…" He purses his lips briefly. "I do things like yell at strangers at three a.m. And dump water on my neighbor's dates. And act very mean to people when I don't intend to, sometimes to push them away but really because I just like to."

_And kiss boys who obviously don't want him to kiss them._

The look in Harry's eyes is softer than it should be considering there's a crazy guy he hardly knows in his bed telling him too much about herself.

"You dumped water on my stepsister," he says.

"The redhead's your–"

He shakes his head. "No, she's – a complicated situation, but that night of the party, that was my sister."

For some reason that is the straw that breaks the ridiculous camel's back and Draco just starts laughing, hands coming up to cover his face. "I was really, really hungover," he says. "I can't be held responsible. You can probably tell by now that I do not make appropriate choices when alcohol has been involved."

"I don't know," Harry says, something of a smile in his voice. "Tonight went pretty okay, by my estimation."

Draco moves his hands down so he can stare at Harry. "How much did you drink?"

Harry laughs quietly, shifting onto his side. "Nothing," he says. "But I ended up with the uptight guy from 4B in my actual bed, so…"

Draco thwacks him with the shirt he'd handed him before. "You shot me down, remember?"

"No," he corrects, "I gave you an I.O.U."

Draco laughs again. "A sex I.O.U.?"

"Hey, whoa now, who said anything about sex?" Harry says, smiling. "I don't remember offering sex before we've even had our first date, what kind of guy do you think I –"

Draco tilts up to cut him off with a kiss a second time. Only this time it isn't uncomfortable or clumsy, it's just nice.

What he likes even more than the kiss is seeing Harry open his eyes and pull his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment.

"Have you thought about it?" Draco murmurs, and off Harry’s questioning eyebrow turns slightly coy, says, "You're really good in my head."

Harry takes that same lip between his teeth, like maybe he needs a minute. "You're pretty good in mine too."

Draco smiles a little then, not quite shyly but not not shy, and suddenly doesn't feel so bad anymore.

Of course he wakes up so wretchedly hungover that he'd prefer to crawl underneath the bed rather than interact with another human ever again, let alone a human he's kind of sort of maybe reluctantly interested in.

Not that Draco's at all justified in using half of those qualifiers considering he near-literally threw himself at Harry. He makes a muffled sound of mortification and buries his face in the pillow.

Harry's pillow.

Harry's gone to sleep on the couch at some point, possibly after Draco's passed out, so Draco is alone in the bedroom. He's still in his clothes, having never actually gotten into the t-shirt – though someone kindly removed his shoes and set them beside the bed.

And so he goes into Harry’s closet and steals a couple of his clothes, ones that would make him decent enough-including a hat that looks cute on him and a pair of sunglasses that blocks out the harsh glare of the lights. And then he sneaks away from Harry’s apartment like a thief in the night, pausing only to glance at him asleep on the couch, shoulders seemingly bare beneath the blanket.

He meets Pansy for brunch, and also to get his keys back.

"Walk of shame outfit," Pansy notes proudly. "That's my boy."

"Ew, nothing happened," Draco says. He refuses to even look at the waitress until there's coffee in front of him. "Harry was a perfect gentleman."

Pansy looks, if anything, prouder. "I'm happy for you, Draco. He seems really nice."

Draco's lip curls a little. "It doesn't matter. The entire horrible night was a horrible mistake."

At that, Pansy's eyebrows raise. "But I thought –"

"I was humiliated!" Draco says. "Never in my entire life have I made this much of an idiot of myself, particularly with such consistency, in front of some guy."

"I know," Pansy says with a little smile. "You must really like him."

Draco just gapes at her. "That's hardly –"

"You're nervous," Pansy continues. "Figuring stuff out. Wanting to make a good impression. It's like your Harvards interview, only with sex."

Draco scrunches down into his seat. "Don't remind me of that," he hisses.

Annoyingly, Pansy grins. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not like he doesn't like you back. I mean, did you see how much NSYNC he let us make him sing?"

Draco is back in his building afterwards, impatiently jabbing at the elevator button when he hears someone pause in their descent down the stairs. His spine prickles, he turns, and sure enough – it's Harry.

Harry’s gaze travels over him slowly, up and down. "Looks like I was robbed."

Draco bites his lip. "I only borrowed a few things," he says. "You can have them back."

Harry comes down the rest of the way. He has a book tucked in the crook of his arm; Draco's tempted to ask if Harry ever does anything with his time besides hip picturesque nonsense, but he doesn't. When Harry gets to him, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Draco’s head and put it on his own. "I should hope so," Harry says. "Considering it's my stuff."

Draco has a private, desperate _my hair!_ moment but he brushes past it, pushing the sunglasses up onto his head as a distraction. "Where are you off to?"

"Nowhere important. Why?"

The elevator finally opens with a soft ding behind him, so Draco takes a step back into it. His fingers are at the buttons of the white shirt. _Harry’s_ shirt. "I thought I could return your things," he says innocently.

Harry's smile sends a little flutter through his chest, but as soon as he gets close enough, Draco hits the door close button. "Better luck next time," he calls through the rapidly closing gap.

The look of huffy annoyance on Harry’s face is absolutely delicious.

On Saturday Harry comes to the farmers' market with him. He holds Draco’s basket and makes him buy artisanal truffles. They share one cigarette on the way back, because Draco is quitting.

Harry appears to take him on a date. Draco is unprepared, and about two more hours worth of work before he is allowed to relax with a glass of white wine. Therefore he is less than enthused about the timing of said date, or the lack of planning. He is not a spontaneous person.

"C'mon," Harry cajoles. He looks relatively good in just a t-shirt and jeans, which means Draco’s standards must be grossly slipping. "Just a movie. Brooklyn Bridge Park. It's going to be so adorable it's gross."

Draco presses his lips together, internally debating. The fact that he's even allowing himself to be swayed is telling. "Fine. But I have to get changed."

By the time Draco is fit for public consumption they're running very late. Harry gives him a long-suffering look but Draco assumes it's just for show, considering he takes Draco’s hand as soon as they're outside.

The first problem: Harry wants to take the train. Draco demands a cab, obviously; he does not travel underground like a mole person.

So, he wins that one.

The second problem: Harry wants him to sit on the grass. He lays out a blanket and then gives Draco puppy dog eyes until Draco very begrudgingly sits down.

One point to Harry.

"If I see one bug," he warns Harry, "Just one –"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry says, like Draco's absurd but he likes it, and puts his arm around him.

Once the movie starts Draco allows himself to relax a little, then a lot. He lets himself lean back against Harry's chest, lulled by his gentle breathing, the way he smells like coffee and the cologne he saw on his dresser, with just the tiniest hint of cigarette smoke. Draco’s hand comes up to curl against Harry’s jaw before his mouth follows, soft kisses against stubble until Harry turns his mouth towards his. 

Then they're the horrible people who make out in the middle of public places and don't even care, to the probable disgust of everyone around them.

"See," Draco murmurs, "If you didn't have to drag me out of our building then we wouldn't be half an hour from your bedroom right now."

"Less than fifteen minutes without traffic," Harry corrects.

Draco arches an eyebrow. "Wanna test that?"

As soon as the elevator doors close on them, Harry sweeps Draco into his arms so immediately that Draco can't help laughing against his mouth.

They barely make it into Harry’s apartment (not Draco's first choice, of course; his emergency sex candles and champagne are up at his own apartment, but Harry’s is closer and Draco's short on patience) from the elevator, and the buttons of his shirt definitely do not survive the trip. He had expected Harry to be shy, maybe, or at the very least kind of gentle and hesitant, but he's far from it. Draco likes the way Harry touches him with confidence, doesn't pass judgment on his eagerness; Draco likes how he grabs both sides of his face to kiss him, the sound he makes when Draco pulls his hair.

Draco pushes him back on the bed and climbs onto him. "I like to be on top," he tells him.

"That works for me," Harry says, pulling him down into another bruising kiss.

In the morning Draco wakes first out of habit, tugging on one of Harry’s shirts before going to investigate the kitchen. Harry has the expected sad bachelor fridge so breakfast is out – which is just as well, really, since all Draco knows how to do is scrambled eggs. He does intend to make coffee (Harry has French press, which, of course he does) but when Draco lifts the boiling kettle somehow the top comes off and scalding water cascades over his hand; Draco shrieks a furious stream of curses that does not even start to cease until Harry has stumbled out of the bedroom.

"Ten minutes in the kitchen and you have already hurt yourself." Harry brings him patiently to the sink so he can run Draco’s hand under the cold water. "I should consider myself lucky you didn't break the fridge."

Draco pouts at him. "This is not my sphere of expertise. One hires people for this sort of thing."

"Pouring water?" he teases.

"Ha ha, very cute, 3B."

"I know, I am very cute," Harry says with a deep, put-upon sigh. Draco punches his shoulder with his uninjured hand and Harry laughs, bringing the scalded one up to kiss. "I'll get you some ice, _darling_ , and I'll make the coffee, because I am just that good."

"Wow, I might actually end up keeping you around," Draco says with a little smile. "However, this all depends on how the coffee turns out."

"Considering I've managed to transfer the hot water from the kettle to the press without injury to anyone, I think I've got one up on you."

"This is going to be one of those things you harp on about, isn't it? If you want a kitchen-savvy boyfriend, you're going to have to look elsewhere."

"It's okay, I'll be kitchen-savvy enough for the both of us."

Draco watches Harry move around in just his boxers, hair sticking up, and thinks: _yes_ , it was probably a good thing he chose to let Harry live.

**Author's Note:**

> I love angsty fics, but in reality I've already written several fluff pieces saved on my computer...but I'm just shy to upload it because I'm afraid my writing sucks and I have a lot to improve on :<
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated! I read every single one of them and it warms my heart when I read your thoughts. Thank you so much and take care always <3
> 
> With love,  
> Darlinxx


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